


Second Time is a Choice

by DrowningByDegrees



Series: Habit Forming [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, No plots were harmed in the making of this shameless smut fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, they can't blame anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time is a Choice

Bucky’s memories are spotty, a leaky faucet of discolored snapshots into a life that’s long since gone. They’re coming back to him slowly, the important ones first, he likes to think. 

 

He remembers the first time Steve fell asleep on him in the shadow of a nearly empty movie theater. Bucky can’t remember the film they saw, but he remembers a mop of blond hair that kept brushing at the column of his throat, and long, dark lashes fanned out across Steve’s pale cheeks. Bucky’s sure he didn’t spend much time watching the movie. In the dark, there was no one to see him tilt his head until his jaw brushed against Steve’s crown. 

 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Steve had been ill, as he so often was. He was on the upswing, but fatigue was still etched into every shift of his body, every breath he took. Even asleep, nearly invisible save for the sepia light, Bucky could make out the faint stutter in the rise and fall of his chest. It made him want to be careful… affectionate even, and immensely grateful that no one could the way he wrapped his arm around Steve’s waifish body in the dark. 

 

They’d stayed that way all through the credits, when Steve finally woke with a soft, disoriented hum. He’d been utterly mortified, tomato red all the way to the tips of his ears, but Bucky was just warm. 

 

It very much and nothing at all like that now. Steve’s never sick these days. His once slender, bony body is unrecognizable now, all toned muscle, and even his face is less gaunt than it used to be. It’s lovely and it’s sad, but mostly it’s heavy at the moment, with Steve slumped against him on the couch. 

 

There aren’t many people in the whole wide world these days who trust Bucky Barnes. It aches sometimes because he tries his best, but Bucky isn’t sure there’s any coming back from that. Steve does though, and if the words don’t always reach Bucky, this does. Steve asleep on his shoulder like nothing at all has changed in the last seventy some odd years. The rolling credits are on a living room television rather than the theater, but the light washes over them just the same. His arm doesn’t fit as well around Steve’s shoulders now that they’re so broad, but it doesn’t stop Bucky from trying. 

 

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is soft and slurred by sleep, and that much hasn’t changed. There’s more force behind it now, more air in his lungs and no risk of conversation being punctuated by a coughing fit. The tone, the cadence though, it’s the same as it ever was, and Bucky finds himself smiling like a fool. 

 

It’s the moments like this he most wants to hang on to, Steve’s expression soft and muzzy with sleep. The way he shifts puts them nearly face to face, and like that, it’s impossible not to notice the things that haven’t changed. His mouth looks soft and supple as ever, all but begging to be kissed. 

 

Bucky licks his lips and swallows, thanking his momentarily lucky stars that Steve seems groggy enough not to notice. They haven’t said a word about the last time, frantic and caught up in the moment, right about where one of Bucky’s feet is pressed to the floor. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, and words always seem to fail him lately, but there’s no misunderstanding the message when he leans in, tentatively pressing his lips to the very corner of Steve’s mouth. 

 

“You mook.” The insult takes Bucky entirely by surprise, but not quite so much as the soft chuckle that follows it. Very abruptly, Steve shifts in his arms until they’re nose to nose. “You call that a kiss?”

 

“Don’t be a jerk,” Bucky teases, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lifting from his chest. He’s quick to rise to the challenge though, flesh and blood fingers curling around the back of Steve’s neck as Bucky leans in for a proper kiss. It’s sweet, and slightly clumsy, but they fit together as well as they ever have. Steve’s lips part at the slightest pressure, a silent invitation for Bucky to delve between them. 

 

He could die perfectly happy like this, he’s sure. The sometimes unsettling bulk of Steve’s body these days is only grounding right now as a pair of well muscled arms fold around Bucky’s back. It’s very nearly as wonderful as they way they find some manner of rhythm to the tender kisses they trade. 

  
Perhaps tender isn’t the right word, at least not for the way Steve’s teeth scrape over his bottom lip. It takes Bucky a moment to register that the whimper in his ears is his own. He’s not certain when his fingers found their way to Steve’s side, but they curl in the fabric of his shirt as Bucky presses closer. 

 

It’s not at all like last time. There’s no mistake, no sense of happenstance in the way they move. He’s sure he’s got no right to any of this, but Steve gives it anyway, a tongue tangled with his, and fingers that trace the knobs of his spine that that he can’t help but arch forward. 

 

The couch seems like a terrible place for this. Bucky isn’t terribly keen on the idea of ending up on the floor again, as much fun as that was in the moment. All the same, he’s afraid to pull away, as if giving Steve even an inch of space might break the spell. 

 

“Wait. Hang on,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s lips, and his stomach threatens to bottom out. Is this what he was waiting for? The assurance that every moment until now has been some sort of mistake? It seems though, that Steve only has the same idea as Bucky, that the couch is a terrible place to be just now. Bold as he’s ever been, it’s Steve that does something about it, extricating himself from Bucky’s grip to get up. Bucky isn’t sure what to make of it until Steve offers him a hand. “Well? Are you coming with me or not?”

 

It’s all the prompting Bucky needs to get up, lacing his fingers through Steve’s. “Just about anywhere.”

 

Steve grins at him in a way that makes Bucky’s chest feel like it’s going to burst. He can’t even be cross about the teasing. “Much as I appreciate the sentiment, Buck, I think just down the hall will do.”

 

“Keep sassing and I might change my mind.” It’s the lightest he’s felt in years, trekking down the hall of their shared apartment to Steve’s room. Steve keeps looking at him like he might disappear, like Steve doesn’t know that he is… that he has always been Bucky’s tether. He can no more deny this than he can will himself to stop breathing, and holding Steve’s hand feels like the single most enormous thing he’s ever done. 

 

“Funny. Usually you like it,” Steve teases, playfully nudging Bucky through the door, and just then, they’re not heroes or villains or super soldiers at all. They’re people, and Steve is the whole wide universe to Bucky, and he wishes he remembered how to be charming enough to put that into words. 

 

“You could be putting your mouth to such better uses though,” he shoots right back instead, because banter is the first part of him that’s really recovered. He’s known Steve as long as he can remember - and loved him for nearly that long - and teasing has always been second nature. 

 

“What, like this?” Steve swoops in, fingers splaying across the small of Bucky’s back like they’re made to fit just there. His lips catch Bucky’s before Bucky can quite formulate a response, not that he wants to. What he wants to do is fall apart, and he hardly notices when the back of his calves hit the bed. Steve releases his mouth and gives him a little push, and just like that Bucky falls back on the bedding with a soft huff of breath. 

 

“It’s a damned good start.” He’s smiling so hard the corners of his mouth hurt, and he keeps wondering if he’s imagined the whole thing. Steve’s far less shy than he used to be. It’s sort of a lovely change, one that curls low in Bucky’s belly. Perhaps that’s not anything to do with with Steve’s demeanor though. It may be the way Steve crawls over Bucky, knees caging his hips, and this time Bucky is alert enough to take it all in. 

 

There’s so much of him. Bucky still remembers a wisp of a man, all sharp corners and porcelain skin, that flushed at the slightest suggestion of… well, anything. This Steve though… this Steve meets him half way, and he blocks out most of the room around them, and even through his shirt, the definition of his body is terribly distracting. 

 

Maybe it’s the shirt, Bucky decides, setting to work on tugging it off. Steve helps, thankfully, the muscles of his abdomen twitching in a rather fascinating fashion as he tugs the tee shirt over his head. It’s all the chance Bucky gets to appreciate the view before Steve starts in on him instead. 

 

The henley goes first. It’s a bit disconcerting in the bedroom light, because as well put together as he is, it’s not all pretty to look at. Scar tissue frames the edges of his shoulder, where metal meets flesh, and Bucky doesn’t realize the way he freezes when the light exposes him. 

 

Sympathy would be humiliating, but Steve doesn’t give him any. What Bucky gets are kisses, warm, wet, reverent brushes of full lips over his mouth and jaw. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the unexpected pleasure of it. After all, people don’t tend to be particularly kind to Bucky Barnes. He keeps trying to catch Steve’s lips in a proper kiss, but Steve has none of it, playfully nudging Bucky’s jaw to the side in silent permission to just relax. 

 

Relaxation is out of the question, but Bucky could perhaps compromise on enjoying himself. It’s impossible not to with Steve’s mouth sucking at the crook of his throat until his hips arch off the bed. Now that’s just not fair, because time and experience has changed them both, but Bucky still responds to that just as keenly as he ever did in the tiny little apartment the two of them shared before the war. 

 

He’s so caught up in the scrape of teeth at delicate skin that he hardly thinks about Steve’s hands until they’re on him, palms sliding along the flat of his stomach, only to come to a rather suggestive stop at the waist of his pants. They stop there though, as if Steve doesn’t even care that he could very definitely keep going. 

 

Bucky thinks about complaining, but he never gets the chance. Steve is a constant distraction, peppering his throat and collarbone with kisses that leave Bucky just a touch breathless. Pleasure has been a rarity for such a long time, and Steve knows him like they were never apart. If this is all he ever gets, he thinks maybe he could be content. 

 

It speaks volumes to the way Steve pulls Bucky’s strings that there’s the flat of a tongue dragging over ruined skin before Bucky quite realizes how close Steve is to his shoulder. He makes a soft, distressed sound, but can’t bring himself to pull away. How can he when Steve lavishes attention like that, like he’s not hard to look at like this. He can’t feel it in any conventional way when Steve’s mouth strays to the metal plates of his arm, but Steve’s fingers slide down the length of it as if it were something fragile. Steve lifts Bucky’s palm to his face, pressing a kiss to each titanium fingertip, and Bucky’s throat feels thick, full of glue and some nameless emotion. 

 

He blinks hard, tilting his head up so that he’s staring at the headboard and not at Steve’s lovely face. Bucky just can’t, and Steve is kind enough not to comment as he lays Bucky’s palm back on the bedsheets and moves on. The attention is almost cruel in its warmth, overwhelming in the way it’s drawn out, like they’re not on borrowed time. It feels like they could spend the rest of their lives this way and not be satisfied. 

 

When Steve finally starts in on Bucky’s trousers, it’s not due to any complaint or urging on his part. Bucky is almost sorry for the loss of Steve’s weight across his hips, but there’s the flick of a tongue across the flat plane of his stomach, and fingers dipping tantalizingly beneath the waist of his pants. He’s not sure how or when Steve got so good at this, but he’s happy to benefit from it, shivering as the pads of Steve’s fingers drag along the divots of his hips. 

 

“I’m beginning to feel a little underdressed here, pal,” he murmurs, intently watching Steve’s every move as his clothes are unceremoniously tossed off the end of the bed. 

 

Steve grins and dips his head, tantalizingly close, but only to nip at the knob of Bucky’s hip. “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that.”

 

Do something, he does. Steve makes a pretty picture at the best of times, but wriggling out of his clothes is one of the most delicious things Bucky can recall seeing. Perhaps Steve is not the frail thing Bucky first fell in love with, but he’d be an idiot to complain just now. He wants to say something, but his shaky reclamation of wit fails him, so he just reaches out, grinning at Steve and crooking his fingers. 

 

It’s a smashing success, judged solely on the merit that it gets Steve back to bed. Steve feels even better than he looks, warm and solid and Bucky just wants to melt into him and forget the world. He’ll settle for the pleasurable comfort of skin on skin as Steve presses heavily over him. They’re well matched, and if Steve is much broader than he once was, it hardly makes a difference. Bucky just revels in unexplored curves, tracing the musculature of Steve’s back to it’s logical conclusion. After all, Steve’s ass is still just about right for grabbing, and he does so with a rather impish grin. 

 

“You’re impossible,” Steve mutters, the words caught between slow, languid kisses. It’s an intimacy Bucky forgot he could even have, and his heart feels nearly as unraveled as his body. 

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re getting slow in your old age. Someone’s gotta prod you along.” Bucky smiles against Steve’s lips, eyes slid shut, and he doesn’t quite register Steve’s fingers in his hair until there’s pulling at it. Oh. Oh, that’s just not fair. It’s hardly even anything, but it makes him whimper just a little. 

 

“You… haven’t changed at all.” Maybe he hasn’t, not in this respect anyway. If that’s true, then it’s probably doesn’t surprise Steve at all when the hand he slides between them is met with a soft, impatient growl. It’s probably not even a question when Bucky rolls his hips, hissing at the way Steve’s hand curls, heavy and solid around his cock. His eyes roll back, and Steve probably already expects the pleading sound that’s drawn past his lips. 

 

It wouldn’t take long like this. Steve feels good, over and around him, and Bucky feels home just breathing him in. It wouldn’t take long at all, but it isn’t  _ enough  _ and even as Steve’s pace quickens, Bucky cobbles together the coherence to playfully swat Steve away. “Is that what I followed you in here for?”

 

“Were you expecting something else?” 

 

Oh this. This is new. It’s bold and fun and Bucky likes it rather a lot. He bites the corner of his lip on a coquettish smile, shifting to drag the inside of his thigh along Steve’s hip. “I just thought you were gonna make it worth the trip.”

 

“That so? What do you propose we do about it?” Steve is close, so close his breath puffs against Bucky’s face, and his voice is a low growl that just serves to make Bucky that much harder. 

 

“Since when am I in charge? I thought I was following you.” He’s mystified by how they went from innocent cuddles on the couch to this, but he gets a chuckle for his efforts, and without even looking, he can hear Steve digging through the bedside table for something. He might tease Steve later for it except for the immediate benefits promised. 

 

It’s hard to divide his attention. Steve kisses him like it’s the last chance they’ll ever get, and Bucky can hardly breathe for the way it consumes him. He wraps his human hand around the back of Steve’s head, holding him there, his fingers curled in Steve’s hair. It’s so good, all on it’s own, and they work so well together that it’s instinct to give where Steve urges him to. His thighs fall open in invitation, one that Steve is quick to accept with slick fingers that slide deftly behind his balls. 

 

He’s not sure he could do this for anyone else, but it’s Steve, just Steve, and it’s perfect. Steve kisses him senseless, pressing ever so slowly in, and the wait is the most exquisite sort of torment. It happens by inches, or rather by the patient slide of Steve’s fingers inside of him. One at first, a slow, steady rhythm that makes Bucky bite his lip on a low, plaintive moan. 

 

Bucky is all but begging before Steve gives in, sliding a second finger alongside the first. The faint burn of it pales in comparison to the rest, and when Steve crooks his fingers just right, Bucky’s whole body stutters. 

 

“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself,” Steve teases, his voice a low rumble that just  _ does things _ to Bucky. He responds by pushing back against the intrusion, groaning as he impales himself. 

 

One glance at Steve suggests he’s every bit as undone as Bucky. A flush creeps across his cheeks, and his pupils are utterly blown with want. It’s a look that hasn’t changed much across the years, one that Bucky intends to take full advantage of. It’s all he can do to let Steve finish, a third finger working him open until he’s squirming and aching for something else entirely. 

 

If Steve isn’t bothered by the metal arm, Bucky is more than happy to use it to his advantage. He’s muscular in his own right, and the minute Steve withdraws his fingers, Bucky throws his weight forward. It’s enough to let him pin Steve, at least for a moment, and he grins triumphantly, dipping his head for a playful kiss. 

 

He doesn’t even have to say anything, not when they know each other so well. Steve looks at him like Bucky’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, breathing hard through slightly parted lips. His eyes slide shut as he slicks himself up, and Bucky is sure it must be some sort of sin to look like this. Good as Steve looks, it’s not quite as perfect as he feels when Bucky straddles his hips and bears down. 

 

Oh, oh, he’d all but forgotten how perfect this is. Steve’s hips cant forward in short, abrupt motions, like he’s trying to hard to control himself, but Bucky is long past any attempt at such. He stretches out over Steve like he means to melt right into him, falling into a rhythm they haven’t lost, even after all this time. 

 

Somewhere along the way, Steve’s hand finds his. Bucky’s metal fingers curl violently in the bedding, but his flesh and blood ones slide quite nicely between Steve’s. It leaves them palm to palm, close as can be, and for all the contact, it suddenly doesn’t feel like quite enough. 

 

Bucky isn’t sure how to put the feeling to words, or if he even should. Steve understands anyway, because of course he always does, and they wind up a tangle of limbs for their trouble. He’s just trying to work out how to get over the edge, but Steve takes care of that too, nudging their bodies just far enough apart to wrap around Bucky as they move. 

 

It was never going to take long. It’s been so long and it feels so perfect, that Bucky was almost unraveling before it started. He hisses Steve’s name when the angle shifts quite perfectly, and when Steve responds by making sure to hit that same spot a few more times, Bucky is utterly undone. Orgasm blossoms through him with a shudder that travels the length of his body and a wail he tries to no avail to stifle against Steve’s jaw. He comes, hot and sticky across Steve’s perfect stomach, his eyes crossed with pleasure. 

 

There’s some measure of satisfaction to how quickly Steve follows, and how desperate the response. Steve scrabbles at Bucky’s back, clawing to be closer, and it couldn’t have been more perfect if he tried. There are probably already marks from the frantic scrape of Steve’s nails at his back, and Bucky intends to savor that so long as he can. 

 

It’s the afterglow that kills him. For a long time, they don’t move at all, boneless and happily tangled up in each other. His limbs feel full of bricks, and the effort it would take to clean up just seems like far too much. Besides, Steve’s heart is beating against Bucky’s chest and that’s exquisitely lovely. His thoughts are hazy and warm and full of affection, though he can’t find the right words to make Steve hear it. 

 

Love. Is that it? Bucky thinks maybe it is. He lets the sentiment bounce around in his head, tastes it on his tongue. That seems like the right one. He isn’t sure he should say it, but he wants to, when it comes down to it. Mostly, he wants Steve to understand the gravity of it all. Quietly, considers his options, how best to frame the confession, only neither of them have been anything but direct, and there’s no sense in stopping now. Clearly, the best plan is to spit it out. 

 

Bucky means to. He does. Nuzzling fondly at Steve’s throat, he lifts his head, shaggy hair hanging in his face. Bucky opens his mouth, and murmurs the words, furtive and questioning, but the only answer he gets for his effort is silence. Silence, save for the soft, even sound of Steve’s slumber. 


End file.
